CHAPTER 4: TEST OF LOYALTY
843 Words
The kiss had barely ended when silence swallowed the room whole.
The laughter, the murmurs, the clinking of silverware—gone.
All I could hear was the thunderous pounding of my heart, each beat a brutal reminder of the hatred pulsing through my veins.
I hated him.
More than I had ever hated him before.
Alessio DeLuca, my husband. The blood-soaked prince of the DeLuca family. The man who had just claimed my lips in front of a crowd as if I were nothing but a prize.
I clenched my fists beneath the table, nails digging into my palms.
Then, the tension shifted.
A movement. A whisper.
And then I saw it.
A servant stepped forward, her trembling hands carrying a silver tray. On it rested two goblets of dark, rich wine. She placed them before Alessio with the quiet reverence of a lamb before slaughter.
My stomach twisted.
I already knew.
Of course, it was time.
The Test of Loyalty.
The DeLuca family was infamous for their traditions—brutal, senseless, twisted. But none were as infamous as this one.
I felt my father’s gaze burn into my skin. That cruel, calculating man—the one who had sold me into this marriage, into this nightmare.
And Alessio?
He sat back in his chair, golden eyes gleaming, watching me with dark amusement.
Then, in a voice as lazy as it was cold, he announced:
"The DeLuca family has a tradition. A test of loyalty. A test of trust."
He reached forward, taking the two goblets, swirling the wine as if it were something as casual as a drink before bed. His gaze never left mine. Not for a second.
Then, he extended one toward me.
His lips curled. Mocking. Daring.
"One is poisoned. One is not. Choose wisely, little wife."
A hush fell over the hall.
The weight of a hundred stares pressed against my skin.
I should have been afraid. I should have hesitated.
Instead, I scoffed.
"Poisoned," I echoed, my voice dripping with scorn.
I lifted my chin, my heart still racing, but my expression calm—controlled.
"So what if I drink the poisoned one?" I asked. "I just die? Because of what? Some ridiculous, barbaric rule?"
The silence stretched.
Then, finally—a voice cut through the tension.
"You're a brave one. And beautiful, too."
I turned, meeting the gaze of Luca DeLuca—Alessio’s elder brother.
His voice was softer, smoother. His expression held something foreign in this house of wolves—warmth.
"Just follow your conscience," he said, a faint smile playing at his lips.
For a brief moment—just a fleeting second—I allowed myself to believe that perhaps not all DeLucas were monsters.
But then, Alessio’s voice, sharp and cruel, shattered that illusion.
"This isn't your marriage, Luca."
The words were a knife, but the next ones were a bullet.
"You can take her sister instead."
My breath stilled.
Take my sister.
Like she was nothing.
Like we were just offerings—objects to be traded, claimed, owned.
I clenched my fists so tight my nails threatened to break skin. Rage coiled inside me, slow, seething, venomous.
I turned to Alessio.
And I let him see it.
The pure, unfiltered hatred in my eyes.
Then—without a word, without breaking his gaze—I reached forward.
And switched the goblets.
The entire hall erupted.
Gasps. Curses. Whispers of shock and horror.
No one had ever done this before. No one.
And they all knew it.
I saw Luca smiling, proud.
But Alessio?
His expression remained unchanged.
Then—his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.
"Bold."
His voice cut through the chaos, commanding silence once more.
The moment stretched, thick and suffocating.
Then, together—we drank.
The wine was warm, sliding down my throat like silk.
I waited.
For the burn. The dizziness. The creeping numbness of death.
But it never came.
There was no poison.
This was never about loyalty.
It was a test of something far worse—submission.
Alessio set his goblet down first, satisfied.
He leaned forward slightly, voice low, taunting.
"Perhaps you do have a spine after all."
I swallowed, keeping my expression blank.
I had won.
And yet… why did it feel like he had, too?
The whispers continued, the shock rippling through the crowd.
Even my father looked stunned.
The DeLucas? Furious.
"No one has ever challenged Alessio DeLuca before," someone whispered.
I ignored them.
Because at this point, my life was already in shambles.
What was the worst that could happen?
Then, an elderly man rose from his seat, his voice solemn and final:
“It is done. Sierra Moretti and Alessio DeLuca are now bound as husband and wife.”
The weight of those words slammed into my chest like iron chains.
I forced myself to look at Alessio.
That smirk was still there. Of course it was.
Because no matter what I had done, no matter how much I fought…
In the end, he had still won.
Finally.
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- Writer
